


Too Hot

by Atsvie



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Attractive!Wade, Frottage, Healed!Wade, Jailbait!Peter, M/M, Sexual Tension, Too Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsvie/pseuds/Atsvie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A game where the two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, he loses. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser.” Or the one where Peter doesn’t know if he can keep his hands to himself with Wade’s new look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot

The most important thing about Wade losing his regenerative abilities is that he’s more of an asshole than ever. In Peter’s humble opinion, of course. Because now he’s too attractive for his own good and the younger superhero doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Wade’s pretty much still just Wade—precarious and mouthy as ever—but Peter thinks he has definitely reached a new level of assholery.  
  
Peter hates it because he _can’t look away._  
  
“Like what you see, Spidey?” Wade actually _flips_ his hair. That gorgeous blonde mop of hair that matches his stupidly attractive blonde stubble that makes Peter’s mouth dry.  
  
Peter feels like swallowing his tongue. “I think I’m obligated to,” he says weakly and decides that he’s going to stick to the story that he wasn’t staring at Wade for the past ten minutes like a teenage girl with her celebrity crush.  
  
“You’re a pro at flirting, aren’t you?” Wade snorts but grins at him. Everything had been a lot easier when they were suited up, where Wade looked no different than usual and Peter could ignore that he had gotten ridiculously hot. Unfortunately, that really did nothing for Peter thinking about it constantly to the point that he may or may not have nearly faceplanted into a building via swinging web.    
  
Even more unfortunately, his attention span had been doomed the moment that Wade offered—or really, whined until he agreed—to hang out back at his place. He says as he removes his mask and shakes his head and Peter just watches in rapt attention because he’s sweaty and his hair is tousled.  
  
Wade really can’t blame him for staring.  
  
“I think I’ve sent you into a catatonic state with my _face,_ _”_ Wade says happily, like he’s absolutely _tickled_ by this which he probably is because he’s a crazy bastard that gets off on his misery and laughs about it with boxes in his head. The boxes must have been pretty enthusiastic about it too because Wade _casually_ strips off the top of his suit and retreats to the kitchen, leaving a catatonic Spider-Man hyperventilating on his couch.  
  
“This is either the best thing that’s ever happened to me, or the worst,” Peter mutters as Wade comes back in the room—shirtless, very shirtless with abs that ripple on for days and finely cut muscle and _oh_ _god—_ and tosses a can of coke at his head. That Peter lets hit his forehead before flailing and cursing.  
  
When he looks back up, Wade’s face is way too close to his and the couch is suddenly very crowded because there’s not enough room for the teenager to sputter and try to back up being that his back hits the arm of the couch almost immediately. The unopened can of coke rolls on the ground forgotten, but that’s alright because Peter is having enough problems focusing with a half naked mercenary nearly straddling him.  
  
“I think we should play a game,” Wade says, his lips still curled up smugly. “It’s called Too Hot. Hell if I know if it’s an actual game but it was on tumblr and that place is just _full_ of good ideas.”  
  
Peter just nods, feeling his face heat up—maybe he’s winning already. “And…how do you play it? Turn off the air conditioning? Stick your head in the oven?”  
  
“I think that’s a different game—except you stick your head in a microwave not an oven. No—wait, that’s a horror movie. Isn’t it? Yeah. We should watch that sometime, totally,” Wade muses but tilts his head in thought, “Oh right. Too Hot. So it’s a sex thing.”  
  
Of course it is.  
  
“We just have to kiss without touching each other. First one to touch the other loses,” he explains as if it’s simple and not potentially the most destructive idea Peter has ever heard pertaining to his mental health.  
  
“I…I can do that. Not like that’ll be that hard or anything,” Peter says with a nervous laugh. He’s so doomed. So, so, incredibly fucked over and part of him is maybe hoping that may be literal if he does this correctly. Pull it together, Parker.  
  
Wade snorts. “Please. I’m usually written like a blonde Ryan Reynolds. You’re not going to last at _all_ _._ I don’t care how enticing your ass is—okay I totally do but that’s besides the point. Winner gets to do whatever he wants to the loser.”  
  
“Fine. Let’s do this.”  
  
The blonde holds a hand up, his expression something sinister that makes him reconsider if this is really a good idea or not. Wade lifts himself off from the couch, not even bothering with modesty as he tugs down the lower portion of his suit so that he’s clad in nothing but ridiculous polka dotted boxers. He then gestures at Peter with a wave of his hand. “Your turn. Even the playing field, mi amigo.”  
  
“How is this fair?” Peter whines. He can’t help but pout a little even as he shrugs off the top of his suit because Wade totally has an advantage when he looks like he belongs in a porn magazine and Peter is just a lanky teenage boy with enough muscle. Except Wade is leering at him as he strips, and he wonders if maybe he _doesn’t_ have an advantage; the thought makes him pull the legs off slower, looking at him as he does so.

  
“Jesus christ, Peter. I didn’t ask for a strip tease. _That’s_ cheating. And none of those sex pouts either,” Wade huffs, kicking their suits further away like that’s the last thing he wants to focus on and practically sits on him again, although this time with his hands behind his back.  
  
Okay so he totally wants him, and the thought makes Peter a little more confident and less like a deer in the headlights when Wade leans in and initiates the game with a simple press of his lips. He grips the cushion of the couch in support, like an anchor to keep himself from losing complete control.  
  
Wade’s lips are soft and firm on his own, an eager pressure that doesn’t give him time to process that they’re already kissing. Peter has to remind himself mentally to respond and again not to lose his grip on the couch. So he lets Wade kiss him, their lips moving more frantically with moments of full on pressure that makes Peter think they’ll topple over, but it’s mostly heat and a battle for who is in control.  
  
When he feels Wade’s tongue wet against his lips, he considers adjusting so that he’s sitting on his hands because it’s getting harder not to just card his hands through blonde locks and to _pull_ as Wade sucks his tongue into his mouth. Because that’s what Wade is doing, except the lack of hands and coordination cause it to be sloppy with saliva and friction, teeth bumping together and his tongue warm against the roof of his mouth.  
  
It’s getting harder to think, though. His blood feels like carbonation, bubbling under his skin and everything is _tight_ like he needs to move and tug and pull to get out, and he wants to clamp onto something but is left with cushion between his fingers.  
  
Peter whines when Wade pulls away, opening his eyes halfway to be met with hungry blue eyes and Wade licking his lips, and maybe it was just a flushed moment to pull away for air because Wade is immediately on him again, but it’s enough to send Peter’s nerves on a high of impulses. He kisses him back fervently, and he really can’t remember why he’s gripping the couch and not Wade’s hair anymore.  
  
It’s about five seconds later that Peter’s hands are on his jaw _—_ _god_ that angular jaw that’s rough with stubble—crushing their lips together until he feels like they might bruise. He uses the grip to steady himself so that he press against him, teeth nibbling against Wade’s bottom lip and everything is hot and hazy and _good_ until Wade pulls away from his lips.  
  
“You lose,” he says, voice breathy and low with the hint of a growl.  
  
“Shut _up_ _,”_ Peter moans against his mouth, his fingers finally being able to grip the blonde strands, tangling in them as if to lock them in place as he kisses him. Wade’s arms wind around his waist, tugging him forward so that he’s in his lap and he can feel the hardness under him, aching under his boxers. And Peter just melts against him, grinding down on his lap because Wade fucking Wilson should never have gotten this attractive so this really isn’t his fault.  
  
“God, I want to fuck you,” Wade mumbles lowly, hands moving from his hips back to his ass where he squeezes firmly and bucks his hips up at the same time. It sends a jolt up Peter’s spine, and he can only focus on the feeling of his hands on his ass and the cock hard under him.  
  
“Yeah,” Peter moans, inhaling when Wade gives him the opportunity to mouth at his neck, to explore his tanned skin with his lips. He smells like smoke and something heady that clouds up his senses like something intoxicating. “Fucking is good. Really good. Want it, now.”  
  
“You lost,” Wade points out when Peter sucks a hue into his collar, and the brunette is taking his time like he’s worshipping his body—something Wade’s clearly not used to but seems to be enjoying with Peter bending in his lap to kiss at his chest. “I get to choose what we do. And mm, I would totally be up for you riding me right now, but the lube is not right here contrary to popular slash fan beliefs and I don’t really want to go get it.”  
  
Peter is a little less than coherent as far as thought processes go, and just whines at the mention of Wade getting up at all. So instead, Wade pushes him forward, hands still firm on his ass, until their cocks are grinding together through the fabric of their boxers. Peter gasps, head falling onto his shoulder but rocking back into the motion actively.  
  
Even though it feels good, it’s still tight and not _enough_ with the barrier of fabric. Wade dips his hand between them, pulling down the waistband of his boxers enough to expose his cock that lays hard and thick against his stomach before doing the same to Peter. Except instead, he wraps his hand around the length of Peter’s cock, jerking him off slowly.  
  
Peter just wants to _touch_ him. He wants to have his fingers and mouth everywhere on him, but at the same time, he lets Wade work his cock like he’s trying to unravel him with steady twists of his wrist. Peter tries to reach down, wanting to wrap his fingers around Wade but is swatted away, and feels Wade add his cock into the jerking instead which causes Peter to throw his head to the side and moan shamelessly.  
  
“Wade,” he pants, his breath shallow as Wade works their cocks in one hand. He closes his palm over the heads, rubbing them together so that the pre-come acts as some form of thin lubrication as he moves his hand further down. Peter gyrates into his hand, fucking his cock up against Wade’s because it feels so good.  
  
“You like this? Feeling your cock rubbing against mine?” Wade breathes into his ear, moving his hand on their cocks faster. Peter’s head feels light, and he knows he can’t last long especially with Wade whispering filthy things into his ear and pulling back to look him straight in the eyes with that stupidly attractive face as he ruts their cocks together.  
  
And Peter doesn’t, in fact, last much longer, because he’s arching his back and coming all over Wade’s cock and hand which seems to allow Wade to move his hand on his own cock faster through Peter’s come. Wade follows him as he leans back in the moment of his orgasm, leaning forward to catch his lips in a rough kiss.  
  
It’s completely unrestrained, mouths moving desperately against each other with their tongue tangling and the friction between them still rising. Wade bites against his lips when he comes, pumping himself faster until his come is splattered against Peter’s stomach. There’s a muffled moan of something that sounds like it might have been his name, but Peter is really still too high off the pleasure to take notice.  
  
They’re both breathing heavily, skin covered in sweat and come, and Wade looks even more gorgeous like this with his hair messy and expression blissed out. Peter can’t help but kiss him again, this time, gentler, but still firm. Their boxers are going to have dried come on them—which logically Peter knows he should wash off before it dries because chafing is _not_ cool, but his limbs are sluggish and he’s sated and happy and not prone to movement.  
  
“I could get used to this,” Wade mumbles happily, nuzzling his head into the crook of his neck.  
  
“Good,” Peter says, placing a playful kiss on his cheek before pushing on his shoulders so that they’re lying down, the teenager sprawled out on his chest. “Because you can’t just go around looking like that and not expect for a horny teenage boy not to do something about it.”  
  
“All according to plan.”  
  
“Whatever,” Peter rolls his eyes, but smiles when he feels Wade’s arms around his waist as he yawns about teenagers and their bedtimes.


End file.
